


Over the Rainbow

by Engineer104



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, An unforgivable amount of Pink Floyd references, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Movie Night, Prom, The Wizard of Oz is a wonderful movie, background eremin, this is cliche and uncreative and i don't care
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-17
Updated: 2014-05-17
Packaged: 2018-01-25 10:40:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1645676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Engineer104/pseuds/Engineer104
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is what happens when your friends try to engineer your love life.</p>
<p>Featuring awkward Jean, smooth Marco, The Wizard of Oz, In-N-Out, and more Pink Floyd references than necessary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Over the Rainbow

**Author's Note:**

> I was hit by inspiration last weekend, and this is the result.

“Your music is the most embarrassing shit I’ve ever heard,” Connie said sagely from the backseat of Jean’s car.

“You don’t have to listen to it,” Jean replied.

“Oh, so can Marco pick a station?” Connie wondered, leaning forward so that he could poke his head between the two front seats.  “His taste is so much better than yours.”

Marco snorted.  “Better Pink Floyd than crappy ads,” he said quietly.

Jean elbowed Connie in the face.  “So can you fucking _walk_ home tomorrow?” he muttered irritably.  “My car is so much quieter without you in it.”

“Harsh,” Connie intoned, leaning back in his seat and rubbing at his cheek.  He wasn’t actually upset though, knowing fully that Jean would never force him to walk home; he’d made that threat almost twice a day since he got his shitty little Jetta and was yet to follow through with it.

Jean dropped Connie off at his house and then drove the few extra miles out of the way to In-N-Out.  When they ditched the car and walked into the restaurant, he pointedly ignored the nervous look on Marco’s face until they were actually sitting at a booth.

“I thought you were used to my driving by now,” Jean said wryly.

“I thought I was too,” Marco admitted, “but you always find new and exciting ways to make me carsick.”

Jean rolled his eyes but asked worriedly, “Are you better now?”

Marco nodded.  “I just may have to walk home later.”

Jean narrowed his eyes at his freckly friend.  It sounded like teasing, but he could never actually be sure with Marco, so he decided not to say anything.

“Okay, just kidding,” Marco said with a smile.  “Please don’t leave me here.  It’s creepy after seven, and I’d rather worry about homework than about being murdered.”

Jean laughed.  “You’re not getting _murdered_ , Marco,” he said.  “I’d never leave you here.”

Marco shot him an easy grin.  “Good.”

* * *

 

“So who are you taking to prom, Jean?”

“No one.”

Sasha, leaning against the locker beside his, gaped at him skeptically.  “Oh, don’t give me that bullshit,” she said with a smirk.  “I _know_ you have your eyes on someone.”

Jean eyed her warily as he stuffed his AP government book onto a shelf.  “Oh, yeah?” he said.

“Yeah,” Sasha said.  She was on a roll, which meant she definitely wasn’t going to shut up anytime soon.  “Let’s just say if you asked out a certain dark-haired cutie, I wouldn’t blame you.”  She winked and smacked her gum for emphasis.

“Uh, Sasha, I seriously have no fucking idea what you’re talking about,” he said, staring at her blankly.

“God, you’re slower than Connie sometimes,” she complained affectionately, leaning forward to ruffle his hair.

“Hey, cut it out.”  He batted her hand away and tried to smooth down the disturbed clumps.  “Anyway, if you’re talking about Mikasa, I got over her a _long_ time ago.”

Three months ago to be exact.

“ _Jean_ ,” Sasha whined, “you know _other_ people with dark hair.”

He slammed his locker shut, gripping his physics binder loosely at his side.  “Sasha, I’m not going to prom, with a date or without.”

“But it’s an essential pre-graduation experience!”

“You got that from the fliers, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, I did!” Sasha replied indignantly.  “So sue me!”

“Maybe when I can afford a lawyer,” Jean muttered, rubbing his face tiredly as he walked to class.

Sasha continued to follow him, much to his chagrin.  “I know who you can ask,” she commented coyly.

Jean shot a glance at her, curious, but he remained silent about it, unwilling to give her the satisfaction.  Instead, he wondered, “Isn’t your class in the _other_ direction?”

She glanced over her shoulder with a frown.  “But I _hate_ English,” she complained.

“So skip,” Jean said with a shrug.

Sasha grinned and looped her arm through his, but he was quick to withdraw.

“No, nu-uh, I’m _not_ skipping physics, and I’m _not_ going to prom.”

“But—“

“ _No._ ”

* * *

 

Sasha continued to badger Jean about prom every free moment, and he contemplated forgoing lunch in favor of finishing his last bit of English homework in the library, except he had yet to see Marco since morning.

Unfortunately, Marco was late, so he ended up trapped between Sasha and Connie.

“You won’t even tell me who you think I should ask, so why are you so fucking _insistent_?”

The pair exchanged knowing looks behind his back.  “Well,” Sasha said, her tone remarkably cautious, “how many dark-haired people do you know?”

“What, are you saying that dark hair is my type or something?”

Connie shrugged.

“If you’re saying I ask Eren Jaeger to prom,” Jean muttered, “then you’re even dumber than I thought.”

“Wow, hurtful,” Sasha retorted.

“Besides, Eren already has a date,” Connie offered.

“Oh, yeah?”  Despite himself, Jean’s curiosity was piqued.  “Who?”

“Armin asked him a few days ago during econ,” Sasha explained with a smile.  “He had flowers and everything; I’ve never seen Eren so fucking _red_.”

“I thought they were just friends,” Jean said with a frown.

“Oh, Jean, Jean, Jean,” Sasha said, her smile turning sympathetic.  “You, my dear friend, are so _naïve_.”

Jean put his face in his hands and huffed air through his nose.  “You’re so fucking frustrating,” he said, voice muffled.

Sasha and Connie both just laughed.

“What’s so funny?”

Everyone looked up at the sound of Marco’s voice right as he set down a brown paper bag and sat across from them.

“Hey,” Jean said, flashing him a smile.

Marco smiled in return, then looked between Sasha and Connie, both of whom had infuriatingly knowing smirks on their faces.  “What were you guys talking about?” he asked.

“Who Jean should take to prom,” Connie replied immediately.

“Yeah, and I have a _fantastic_ idea,” Sasha said enthusiastically.

“Oh, yeah?” Marco said cautiously.

She nodded, a conniving glint in her eyes.  “Who do _you_ think he should take?”

Marco shrugged, shooting a glance at an uncomfortable and irritated Jean.  “But Jean’s not going to prom,” he said.

“He’s fed you that bull too?” Sasha noted with a raised eyebrow.

“Uh, yes?”

“Besides, you didn’t answer the question.”

“I don’t know the answer,” Marco replied nonchalantly, “but _you_ seem to.”  He smiled slightly, teasingly.

Jean groaned.  Why the fuck was Marco entertaining their stupid notions?

Connie nodded.  “Hey, Jean, you know who you should ask?”

“No, and I don’t want to,” he mumbled.

“You should ask”—he pauses for dramatic effect—“ _Marco_.”

Jean almost spat out his Gatorade at that.  “What?”  He shot Connie a glare right as Marco burst into laughter.

Jean, Connie, and Sasha all faced the fourth person at their table as he shook with mirth, his face red.  It took a few minutes for him to stop and finally catch his breath, while the other three stared at him in bewilderment.

“Wow, I didn’t realize I was such a terrible date,” Jean commented ironically.

“You are,” Sasha said with a hint of amusement.

“That was _one time_!” Jean said indignantly.

“For a very good reason,” Connie said, rolling his eyes.

“I was a fucking _freshman_ , and it was my first fucking _homecoming_.”

Now Connie and Sasha laughed, at Jean’s expense.

Once more, he buried his face in his hands and huffed, “Why the fuck am I friends with you guys?”

They ignored his question in favor of Marco’s words:  “Look, as, uh, great as going to prom with Jean would be. . .”  He trailed off, glancing at Jean and shooting him a slight smile (was he _blushing_?).  “Well, we already have plans that night.”

“Aw.”

“Cancel.”

“No, I’ve been looking forward to it for a few days now,” Marco said.

“Yeah, me too,” Jean admitted.

“So what are you two doing that’s more important than prom?” Sasha asked while Connie waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

“We’re going to watch _The Wizard of Oz_ ,” Marco replied with a trace of smugness.

“How the hell is that better than prom?” Connie wondered.

“Jean’s never seen it,” Marco said.

“Yeah, but _prom_.”

Marco grinned and shook his head, and Jean breathed a sigh of relief.  With his best friend backing him up, Springer and Pringles would get off of his back.

* * *

 They met the summer before their freshman year, at band camp of all places.  So, yes, Jean could often say, “This one time at band camp. . .” without any irony.  (Not that he did.)

They were side-by-side for most of the drill, since Marco played tenor saxophone and Jean played trombone.  Still, they didn’t speak till the last day of band camp, when Jean accidentally dripped spit from his instrument’s spit valve onto Marco’s sneakers.

Not long after that, it became clear that Jean, despite being a good musician, was a terrible marcher.  His section leader, the drum major, and the band director frequently yelled at him and called him out for being out of step, and he frequently talked back to the section leader and drum major (not the director, though; that guy scared the shit out of him).

Marco, being the kind individual that Jean eventually came to know him as, offered to help him practice, and he accepted despite his reluctance.

Sometime during their extra practices, they became friends.

And maybe sometime after _that_ , their friendship transformed into something else.

* * *

 

Jean tended to point blame at a lot of people that weren’t himself, even when it was obvious to everyone else that whatever it was could definitely be attributed to him.

When he stood up Sasha on homecoming their freshman year, he’d blamed his dad for forgetting to drive him.  Really, Jean had forgotten to remind him.

When he punched Eren Jaeger in the jaw before a track meet while they were juniors, he’d blamed their two-meet suspension and subsequent losses on the other boy.  But now, for the life of him, he couldn’t even remember what they were fighting about.

When Sina University rejected him earlier that year, Jean found fault in the higher-than-usual amount of applicants, although he eventually conceded that _maybe_ he could’ve managed A’s in just a few more classes.

So it came only naturally to Jean to blame Sasha and Connie for the uninvited butterflies in his stomach when he picked up Marco before school the following morning.

He could’ve kicked himself – and them! – for the stupid nerves he was suffering.

“What’s wrong, Jean?” Marco asked him as soon as he buckled his seatbelt.

_Fuck, how does he know?_   “Uh, nothing,” Jean responded quickly.  He shot a look at Marco and added, “Why would something be wrong?”

Marco shrugged, eyeing him worriedly.  “You look anxious,” he observed.  “Test today?”

Jean could’ve sighed, relieved, at the easy excuse Marco gave him.  “Yeah, physics is a bitch.”

Marco smiled.  “You’re smart, Jean,” he said.  “I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

Jean’s blush undoubtedly betrayed him, but ever-observant Marco didn’t comment on it.

* * *

 

They’d always touched a little more than most pairs of best friends should, whether it was a pat on the shoulder, a side-arm embrace, or a none-too-gentle shove of the shoulder.  The gestures ranged from affectionate to friendly, to comforting, to playful and to rough.

But now, when Marco prodded Jean in the ribs, the shorter boy flinched far more than he might’ve just a few days ago.  Marco raised his eyebrows and commented, “That was an entertaining response.”

Jean, growing more irritable with each moment his crush persisted, snapped, “I’m so glad you find me so fucking amusing.”

“Was your test that bad?” Marco, unfazed, wondered.

Jean hid his face in his locker.  “Yes,” he lied.  In truth, he’d breezed through the test in a half hour, but he’d be damned if he refused to use Marco’s explanation.

“It’s never as bad as you think, you know,” Marco pointed out.  Jean could picture him rolling his eyes.

They were silent for a few moments, Jean with his face in his locker while he stuffed notebooks into his backpack, and Marco leaning against the locker beside him, watching students trickle out of the building to the buses or the parking lot.

“Are you regretting not buying a prom ticket?” Marco asked suddenly, tone thoughtful.

“No,” Jean replied immediately, and truthfully this time.  He finally lifted his head to look at Marco’s uncharacteristically somber expression.  “What’s wrong with _you_?” he said, a little worried himself.  “Are _you_ regretting it?”

Marco shook his head.  “No, I’m still looking forward to our movie night,” he said, the corners of his lips lifting slightly.

Jean licked his own, wishing he had chap stick, then lifted his gaze to the taller boy’s eyes.  “Connie suggested we sync up the movie and _Dark Side of the Moon_ ,” he said.

“We’re definitely _not_ doing that,” Marco said insistently, his voice a little scandalized.

Jean laughed, some of the tension easing.  “Okay, we’ll watch the fucking _Wizard of Oz_ seriously.”

“Good.”

“Do you want to go to In-N-Out?” Jean inquired after another quiet minute.

Marco looked at him and grinned.  “Yeah.”

* * *

Despite their continued status as _just friends_ , Jean couldn’t help but feel as if they were on a date as they slid into their usual booth at In-N-Out.  He anxiously drummed his fingertips on the table, subconsciously tapping out the bass beat from “Money”.

Marco watched Jean’s fingers, a little mesmerized.  “You know, your sense of rhythm is actually pretty good.”

Jean scoffed, feeling his neck warm at the compliment.  “Then why was I such a shitty marcher?”

Marco shrugged.  “Maybe you had problems moving that rhythm to your feet.”

“Well, I _am_ a shitty dancer too, so it’s a good thing I’m not going to prom after all.”

Marco laughed.  “You can’t be _that_ bad.”

“I’m fucking _awful_ ,” Jean said, waving his hands emphatically.  He couldn’t help but grin; Marco’s amusement was infectious.  “My sister for some weird fucking reason is taking ballroom lessons, and she tried to practice with me.  It, uh, it sucked.”

“It’s not like people _waltz_ at prom, Jean,” Marco noted with a wink.

Wait, did Marco just _wink_ at him?

And now he was blushing again. . .

And dammit, why did he have to say his name like that?

Jean, feeling awfully flustered even as a family sat at the table beside theirs, stuttered, “I-I know th-that!”

“So tell me, Jean, if we _were_ going to prom, and I _was_ your date, would you stand me up like you stood up Sasha?”

“Fucking hell, that was _one time_!”

Marco laughed as he stirred his milkshake with a straw, only smiling wider when Jean glared at him.

* * *

 

Jean sulked in his room Friday night.

He was restless, unable to settle on any one activity.  He opened _Brave New World_ , which he had to have finished by Monday (fucking Levi, forcing them to read a book prom weekend, and so what if Jean wasn’t even going to prom?  It was a matter of principle, and that wasn’t the _point_ ), but despite enjoying the book _most_ of the time, nothing stuck in his mind.

He opened his laptop and browsed Netflix for a half hour, flicking through everything from comedies to dramas to kinda-sorta pornos to anime, before sighing and shutting it again.

He flopped onto his bed and pulled out his phone, considered texting Marco, or even Sasha or Connie, then just opened his Minesweeper app, muttering “ _Shit_ ” every time he activated a mine (which was often).

A sudden text message making his phone vibrate startled him enough that he dropped his phone onto his face.  “Fuck,” he said, sitting up and rubbing his forehead as he opened the message.

It was from Marco:

_Should I bring popcorn 2morrow?_

Jean typed out a quick reply:

_Nah, I got u covered but candy?_

Marco was just as quick to respond:

_Kk, twizzlers? =]_

Jean grinned, glad he had a friend that knew him so well:

_Fuck yeah._

To Jean’s disappointment, Marco didn’t text back, but he supposed he’d tied up the knot of conversation pretty effectively.  He should’ve asked some other mundane question in return. . .He sighed and lay down again, setting his phone on the pillow beside his head.  He thought about tomorrow, wondering if it would be any different than any of previous movie nights.  Sure, certain, ah, _feelings_ had awakened since their last one a month ago (they had a Lord of the Rings marathon at Marco’s house, which turned out to be a bad idea when they both fell asleep and then woke up with marker all over their faces, courtesy of Marco’s little sisters), but why would that make it _awkward_?

Okay, things would definitely be awkward, although Jean supposed he’d been doing a fairly decent job of keeping it _not_ lately.

Jean ran his fingers through his hair and wondered what it would feel like if Marco did the same.  He put his left index finger to his lips and thought about how it would be if Marco kissed him.

His face grew warm at the fantasy, and a not unwelcome heat pooled in his abdomen.  And, sure he considered Marco kissing him, but what about the other way around?  Would Marco like it?  Assuming that he was into that sort of thing. . .

Jean’s first kiss was during a fairly tame game of Truth or Dare in his sophomore year, with Krista Lenz, courtesy of Ymir; it hadn’t been particularly memorable, and later he attributed it to the fact that Krista started dating Ymir not long after that.

His second – and last – kiss was a chaste, impromptu incident junior year, when the football team had won the state trophy and everyone was high off the victory.  In a burst of spontaneity, Jean grabbed Armin Arlert, on whom he’d been nursing a minor crush, and pressed their lips together.  Naturally, Armin was too shocked to reciprocate, Jean was blushing furiously, and Eren socked him in the jaw.  Marco held an ice pack to Jean’s face the whole long bus ride back to school.

Jean had no idea when his romantic feelings towards Marco began to develop; it only seemed that they were there longer than he thought, although he’d only really become aware of them when Sasha suggested they go to prom together.

_How dumb,_ he thought, even now.  Still, a night in and alone was _much_ more preferable to being around a few hundred sweaty, hormonal teenagers, even if Jean could include himself in that number on almost any other day.

At least he was a crowd of only one.

* * *

Jean woke up early Saturday morning, avoiding Facebook like it was a smallpox blanket rather than just a browser page full of photos of formal-clad youths, and ran to the bathroom.

As he combed his hair into a neat enough ‘do, he kept an ear open for his phone in case Marco texted or Sasha decided to harass him.

Sure enough, he heard it vibrate right as he walked back into his room.  When he picked it up, he saw a photo of Sasha with her hair looking. . .unusual.  The message underneath it said:

_This coulda been u!  xP_

He rolled his eyes, a little amused despite himself, and replied:

_Never._

He went downstairs and looked for breakfast; his parents were already out for the day, so he was unsurprised to find nothing.  He sighed and pulled the tray of eggs from the refrigerator and glared at them, as if they would fry themselves (or he could fry them with the heat of his piercing eyes).

Luckily, Jean wasn’t completely inept so he cracked four eggs into a pan and set them to heating, only getting a few flecks of shell stuck in the yolk.

His nearby phone lit up with another text message, this time from Connie asking to borrow a lint roller.  He quickly responded that he didn’t have one, then sent a message to Marco wondering what time he was coming over.

The reply was practically instantaneous:

_Jean u woke me up._

Jean smirked to himself:

_Sorry. What time?_

The response:

_When do u want me?_

Jean swallowed.  He wanted to tell him to come now, but that was definitely unreasonable especially since it was only ten in the morning, except Marco _would_ actually be there if he asked, and Jean loved spending time with him, even if it made him all hot and bothered, and. . .

_5 good?_

_Yeah i’ll b there._

_K see u then._

He stuffed his phone into his pocket and tried to focus on not overcooking his breakfast.

* * *

 

Marco arrived five minutes before five, DVD and giant bag of Twizzlers in his arms.

Jean immediately grabbed for the candy.  “You’re early,” he observed, grinning as he tugged at the plastic.  He frowned when it refused to budge.

“Yeah, I couldn’t wait,” Marco said with a slight shrug.  Then, he looked pointedly at Jean.  “Are you going to let me in?”

He realized he was still standing in the doorway.  “Oh, yeah, sorry, Mr. Vampire,” he said, stepping aside to let his friend in.  He closed the door behind him, then turned to see that Marco was gone.

Sure enough, Jean spotted him in the living room, the remote control for the DVD player in hand, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees as he skipped through trailers of movies that were released years ago.

“Popcorn?” he wondered, still clutching the bag of Twizzlers to his chest.

Marco glanced at him.  “If you’re making some, I’ll eat.”

So Jean took that as an invitation to plop down beside him, although he still wrestled with the plastic bag.  When Marco managed to start the movie, he reached over, grabbed the bag, and easily pried it open with barely a crinkle.

“What the fuck?” Jean muttered as sepia credits started to flash across the screen.

Marco smirked and reached into the bag for a string of licorice.  “It’s a gift.”

“Not one I have,” Jean scoffed as he grabbed several strings himself and bit into all of them at once.

Marco laughed at the spectacle.  “Slow down; this movie’s kind of long.”

“Not nearly as long as _any_ of the LOTR movies,” Jean commented.

“But definitely longer than ‘Shine On You Crazy Diamond’.”

“That’s a _fucking great song_ ,” Jean retorted.

“It’s too _long_ ,” Marco complained.  “No one song should take up more than half of an album.”

“You just can’t appreciate the genius that was ‘70s Pink Floyd,” Jean said, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, that’s what it is,” he replied with a very attractive grin.

Jean swallowed and faced the movie, watching Dorothy singing something about rainbows.  He ignored the sound of Marco humming along with the song and chewed ferociously on his licorice, tilting the bag slightly towards his friend so that he wouldn’t have to reach too far.

When the tornado hit and Dorothy finally landed in Oz, Marco muttered directly into Jean’s ear, “I guess I should warn you that this movie is pretty much an acid trip, like listening to Pink Floyd!”

“Shut the fuck up, Marco,” Jean huffed, rather liking the way the freckled boy’s breath felt against his skin.

“You know, Jean, it’s okay if you want to sing along,” Marco suggested teasingly once Dorothy pranced down the Yellow Brick Road.

“No, I’m good.”

Sometime after the Scarecrow was introduced, Jean suddenly became aware that he and Marco were sitting _very, very close_.  He was sure that, if he tried to cram a fucking _brochure_ between them, it would simply fall onto their touching thighs.

Shoulders and elbows brushing, hips side-by-side, knees almost bumping.  And it definitely didn’t help that Marco’s foot kept nudging – whether accidentally or on purpose – Jean’s.

He bit back an involuntary shiver every time Marco’s toenail slid across the sole of his foot, and by the time the Cowardly Lion hissed at Toto, Jean could barely take it.

“Lions and tigers and bears, oh my!” Marco muttered along with Dorothy, his voice pitched half an octave higher to match hers.

Jean chuckled, albeit a little tensely, and glanced sideways at Marco, who was looking back with a coy smile.

“Do you like it so far?” he wondered quietly.

“W-what?” Jean said nervously.

“The movie, duh.”

“Oh, uh, yeah,” Jean said, not willing to admit that he’d hardly paid much attention.

The poppies scene saw Jean almost nodding off on Marco’s shoulder, and maybe he would’ve if the other boy hadn’t nudged him and said, “Jean, wake up!”

“Nah, I think I’ll sleep now,” Jean muttered, properly resting his head.

“It’s just the poppies,” Marco said.

“No, I’m tired.”

It was silent but for the movie for a few moments, at least until he felt something gross and wet at his ear.  He jumped up, startled, and scratched at his ear, glaring at Marco, who was rubbing his finger on his jeans.

“Did you just give me a _Wet Willie_?” Jean demanded.

“Of course not,” Marco said, his grin betraying his words.

“You’re a little shit, you know that?”

Marco didn’t deign to reply and instead looked straight ahead right as the Wizard issued his challenge to Dorothy.

“Do you think we’ll regret not going to prom?” Jean wondered a little later, interrupting Dorothy’s struggle with the Wicked Witch of the West.

Marco looked at him thoughtfully.  “Nah,” he said with a grin.  He returned his attention to the movie, but Jean couldn’t stop staring at him.  He leaned into him slightly, courage coming to him right as Dorothy drenched her adversary in water, and, to his surprise, it paid off when Marco’s arm snaked around his shoulders, pulling him even closer.

Jean faced forward again, barely seeing the pictures on the television screen, trying to ignore the motion of Marco’s peculiarly calm breathing at his side.  He wondered if the other boy’s heart beat as rapidly as his.

“Uh, Marco?”

“Yeah?”  He looked over at Jean, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Um. . .”

“You seem nervous.”

“And fucking pointing it out makes it better?” Jean retorted irritably.

“Good point,” Marco said.  “Sorry.”

Jean inhaled deeply, bracing himself, then said, “Remember when Sasha and Connie suggested we go to prom together?”

“It’s a little late to do that, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, but that’s not what I’m getting at.”

“Okay?”

“I guess, after they said that, I, uh, realized that I kind of maybe have feelings for you.”  Jean didn’t look at Marco, hoped that he wouldn’t withdraw his arm once the words registered.

“So do you feel better now?” Marco wondered after a brief pause.  He kept his arm right where it was, wrapped around Jean’s shoulders.

“I won’t until you say something about what I just said.”

“Jean, look at me.”  He did, meeting Marco’s eyes properly as he asked, “So are these _romantic_ feelings?”

Jean wasn’t sure whether he wanted to slap or to kiss the amused look off of Marco’s face, because if he laughed _this_ time, it wasn’t even hyperbole to say that he would die of embarrassment.

“Uh, duh?” Jean said.

Marco sighed, his amusement turning into a soft smile.  “Oh, I’m so glad to hear I’m not the only one.”

“Oh, then, uh, wait, what did you just say?”  Jean’s mind was slow to process Marco’s words.

“I share your romantic feelings,” Marco admitted, his cheeks flushing a perfect shade of pink.

“That sounds really cheesy,” Jean observed, some of his confidence beginning to return to him even as he feels every inch of his skin heat up.

“Not as cheesy as _The Wizard of Oz_ ,” Marco muttered.

“Not as cheesy as _actual cheese_ ,” Jean retorted.

“That’s really lame, Jean,” Marco pointed out with a giggle.

“ _You’re_ lame,” Jean shot back, holding his breath slightly when he saw Marco’s eyes flick downwards, undoubtedly to his lips.

They were quiet for a few moments, the movie nothing more than background noise, the two teenagers simply staring at each other.

“I’m jealous of your trombone,” Marco remarked quietly, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Why’s that?” Jean said, his gut twisting slightly with anticipation.

“You’ve put your mouth on it more often than on me.”

“Oh, fuck.”  He couldn’t deal with it anymore, so he buried his face in his hands to hide the intense blush.  He desperately wanted to jump out of his uncomfortable, embarrassed skin, even though reciprocated feelings should’ve been _much_ easier to deal with.

Soft hands touched Jean’s, tugging at his fingers and forcing them away from his face.  “I think we should fix that problem,” Marco said confidently.

Jean nodded, lifting his head up slightly, right in time for Marco to lean in and kiss him.

(The movie continued, Dorothy waking up in bed surrounded by her aunt, uncle, and cousins, and when the credits rolled, the film was long forgotten.)

He should’ve known that Marco would be the one to make the first move, to state _exactly_ what he wanted and to make the decision to act on it; sure, Jean’s feelings popped out first, but Marco was courageous enough to act on it, to return them and admit as much. . .

To make him shiver even though it was just the firm yet gentle pressure of one mouth against another.

To encourage him to quit holding back and reach out to run his fingers through dark, slightly curly hair.

To relax when one strong hand rested on his back and another cupped the back of his neck.

To welcome the feeling of another’s tongue against his lip and realizing that _fuck he’d been envious of a musical instrument all along too._

To wish he could murder someone when an obnoxious ringtone caused them to jump apart.

“Who the fuck is calling?” Jean said irritably as Marco reached around him for his phone.

“Hello?” Marco said as he brought the device to his ear, moving his free hand to Jean’s hip.

“So, who is it?” Jean repeated.  All he could hear was static.

“Sounds like fun,” Marco said to whoever was on the other end, continuing to ignore the annoyed boy on his lap.  “I’ll ask Jean.”

“Ask Jean what?” Jean muttered.

“The prom-goers are at In-N-Out,” Marco told him.  “You want to join them?”

Jean looked over his shoulder at the clock to see it was eleven.  “Fuck, where did the time go?”

“Time flies when you’re having fun, right?” Marco noted wryly.

Jean spun his head around so quickly his neck cracked, and it was just on time to see the blush on the other boy’s face.  He smiled and kissed him on the cheek.  “Yeah, you’re right,” he said.

“So, Sasha’s waiting for an answer,” Marco commented.

“Uh, I’m pretty hungry,” Jean admitted.  “I could go for some Animal Fries.”

Marco grinned and said into his phone, “We’ll definitely be there.”  He then promptly hung up without saying goodbye.  Looking Jean in the eye, he added, “Sasha said they’d be there by 11:30, and it’s eleven now.”

“And it’s a five-minute drive from here,” Jean said, his sharp gaze barely missing the mischief in Marco’s eyes.

“So we definitely have time,” Marco said, tossing his phone aside and tilting his head slightly to kiss Jean again.

* * *

 

They were ten minutes late, something that Sasha was quick to comment on when they sat down with their food.

“Fuck off, Sasha,” Jean said, although he was unable to keep his face from heating up.

Fortunately, Marco, the smooth bastard, simply ignored her words.  “You look nice, Sasha,” he said tactfully.  His gaze then shifted slightly towards Connie, then to Eren and Armin, who were _definitely_ holding hands under the table, and finally to Mikasa, the Lady in Red herself.  “You all look nice.”

Sasha grinned at the compliment, and Connie looked thoroughly confused, holding up his arms clad in an oversized tux.  “The jeans and t-shirt look totally suits you too, Marco,” Sasha said with a smirk.

“I’d say the Jean look suits him better though,” Connie remarked, chuckling at his own wit.

Jean buried his face in his hands, embarrassed forevermore.

“Come on, Marco,” Sasha teased, “tell _your_ date that he’s pretty.”

“Jean, you’re pretty,” Marco said, as if he totally meant it.

Jean groaned, keeping his face right where it was while the table’s other occupants laughed at his expense.

“You’re going to have to learn to take a compliment if you’re dating Marco, Jean,” Sasha pointed out.

“We’re not dating,” Jean said, voice muffled by his hands.  It wasn’t fair; he and Marco kissed for the first time just a couple hours ago, they had yet to admit anything to their friends, and he was _already_ being harassed about it.

“Oh, yeah?” Eren input for the first time.  “Then why do you look so fucking embarrassed?”

Jean shrugged, looking up to shoot a glare at him.  Then, he almost flinched when he felt something brush against his knee.  He looked down and smiled slightly when he saw it was just Marco’s hand resting there.

He started humming the first tune that popped into his head, and for once, it wasn’t “Another Brick in the Wall, Pt. 2”.  He hummed as he kept his Animal Fries out of Sasha’s reach, as he teased Armin and Eren about their new relationship (he tried to ignore his own hypocrisy), as Marco threaded their fingers together and shot him a shy smile.

Jean had found his way over the rainbow.

**Author's Note:**

> I can't write make-out scenes. Also, that last bit is so clunky. Why is my writing so awful?
> 
> Fun fact: my friends and I hit In-N-Out after our senior prom. (If you're not familiar with In-N-Out, that's okay, it's just fast food, and if you are, then now you know where I live...)
> 
> I should try writing for another pairing some time...
> 
> Comments and constructive criticism are always welcome!
> 
> And I have a tumblr: stereotypedebunker.tumblr.com  
> I like ranting about chemistry periodically (pun NOT intended), so if you have any [intentional] chemistry puns, drop me an ask. =]


End file.
